Maybe I'm Just Wasting My Time
by deletednobody
Summary: A FlackOC one-shot. But not really.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI: Crime Scene investigation, its characters or all related logos and trademarks, et cetera. I own the characters I made up and most of the plot, if not all. If you find any plot parts you recognize from the CSI: Crime Scene Investigation TV show, then those parts are not mine either.

**Author's Note:** A Don Flack one-shot. Not really, though.

Maybe I'm Just Wasting My Time

_by The Last Llama_

How could he do that? How? Does the guy even _have_ a friggin conscience? So he tells me it's over, that it wouldn't end well, we're colleagues- yeah right. She's his colleague too. I guess that speech only applies to me because he wants to get rid of me. He can try, we still work in the same place and have the same boss. It'll be impossible to _not_ see him and his girlfriend.

What pisses me off is the fact that she can't piss me off. She's so kind and friendly and a perfect match for him- everyone is so happy for him and her. What about me? Can someone genuinely care about my feelings too?

Lying in bed, ignoring the fact that I should have been at work an hour ago, I'm thinking of what's happened the past few months. I admit, though, that I'm being selfish. _C'mon, be happy for them, they deserve it, _says my conscience. _Stop being so selfish._

I ignore it. Just because everyone is happy for them doesn't mean I need to be too. And I also have the right to be selfish. Can I be selfish just this once?

There's a knock at my door and I grumpily crawl towards it. If that's the FedEx dude that always gets the wrong address, then I'll wring his neck. Can't he read, or is he just too dyslexic?

Whoever's outside knocked again and rang the doorbell for good measure. "Oh for God's sake, wait up, I'm coming!" I quicken my pace slightly, so they won't ring the doorbell again. That annoys me.

I briefly look through the eye hole, and I can barely make out what the person looks like- but I can tell he's not the FedEx guy. No obnoxious cap. I twist the knob and open the door.

"What happened? You were supposed to be at work an hour ago!" I'm face-to-face with Don, _his_ best friend.

"I'm not going to work." I tell him exasperatedly. "That's why I didn't show up." I slammed the door, but he quickly stopped it with his foot. Annoying much?

"What do you want, Flack?" usually he and I aren't on last name basis, so by calling him by his last name, I think he can take a hint and just go away. But he doesn't. He pushes the door open wider and walks in, surveying my place. "Wow. This place is a mess."

Ha ha, thank you for that, Mr. Flack. "So? You're not the one living here. Who are you anyway? The health inspector?"

"No, I'm Detective Don Flack, who was sent by Mac's orders to escort you to the lab. So dress up, Mac's not that patient."

"Screw Mac." I grumble. Then I realize what I'm wearing is semi-skimpy. Spaghetti strap tank top and shorts that go mid-thigh. I blush red, and decide to change clothes anyway.

"Sit. Stay. Wait there." I command, looking through my closet.

"Sit where?"

"On the floor." I retorted, pulling on jeans, a shirt, and a turtleneck. I ran my hands through my hair a couple of times to tame it, I have really bad bed hair. Baring my teeth in front of the mirror, I quickly brush them.

"Ready." I go into the living room and see Don patiently leaning on the wall. He examines the alcohol stain on my sleeve.

"You know, I helped pick out that sweater."

"What?"

"I helped Danny pick out that sweater." At the mention of the name, my face hardens and Don realizes he made a mistake.

"Jesus, sorry, I didn't-"

"Wait here. I'll change."

"You look fine."

"Yeah, but I don't feel it." How could I forget that he got me this sweater for Christmas? I pull it off and rummage through my closet for another one. I find my old blue one that has a hole behind the shoulder and wear that instead. I walk back to the living room slash kitchen and meet with Don, who's holding the door open. As I pass through, under his outstretched arm, he whispers: "Why are you wasting your time on him?" but he says it so quietly that I doubt he meant for me to hear it.


End file.
